ATAC BRIEFING FOR AGENTS FRANK AND JOE HARDY MISSION: To find the mastermind behind a possible attack at the Big Air Games. LOCATION: Philadelphia, PA. POTENTIAL VICTIMS: Top extreme athletes in the country. Thousands of spectators. SUSPECTS: There may be a group of extremists working together. There may be just one. Franklin W. Dixon is the author of the ever-popular Hardy Boys books. Extreme Danger By Franklin W. Dixon Aladdin Copyright ©2005 Franklin W. Dixon All right reserved. ISBN: 1416900020 Chapter One: Terror at 12,000 Feet I'm going to die. That's what I thought when I pulled the cord of my parachute -- and nothing happened. Definitely not cool. As I plummeted downward through the sky, it felt like I was floating. The earth below, on the other hand, was rushing up to greet me at a speed of 120 miles per hour. To make matters worse, it was my first solo jump. And probably my last. I tried not to panic. I looked over at "Wings" Maletta, the jumpmaster of Freedombird Skydiving School. The big bearded man was Freedom-falling about ten yards away from me. I waved to him like a maniac, pointing at my broken parachute cord. And guess what he did? He laughed. Seriously. Like some sort of cartoon villain on Saturday morning TV, he threw his oversized head back and laughed. Then it hit me. He knows who I am. In case you haven't figured it out, I'm no ordinary thrill-seeker who jumps out of planes. I'm Joe Hardy -- undercover agent for ATAC (American Teens Against Crime) -- and I was on a mission. A pretty dangerous mission, as it turned out. The police had reason to believe that the Freedombird Skydiving School was just a front for a fly-by-night smuggling ring. Wings Maletta wasn't a real diving instructor -- he was a DVD pirate. So the ATAC team asked my brother Frank and me to go undercover to crack the case. Hey, why not? Who would suspect a couple of teenage boys taking skydiving lessons? Wings Maletta, that's who. I stared at the broken pull cord in my hand and the big-toothed grin on Wings's round furry face. He looked right at me -- then pointed up at the plane. My brother Frank stood in the open doorway, getting ready to jump. "Frank! Wait! Don't jump!" I shouted through the walkie-talkie in my helmet. Too late. Frank leaped out of the plane. "They're onto us, Frank!" I yelled. "Maletta cut the pull cords!" I waited for a response. Nothing. "Frank! Can you read me?" Static. I didn't know what to think. Did Frank hear me? Did someone sabotage his parachute too? One thing I did know. If I didn't grab onto Wings Maletta in the next few seconds, I was going to be digging really deep for clams in the sandy beach below. And I hated clams. So I angled my body headfirst toward the dude who wanted to kill me -- and tried to "swim" after him. Hey, it works in the movies. But this wasn't a movie. This was real life, and I didn't have a stunt double. I didn't even get five feet before a wicked blast of air sent me spinning off course. I quickly straightened my arms into a diving position and managed to catch a "wave" of wind. Before I knew it, I was sailing right toward my target. It was almost like body surfing, except I was swallowing mouthfuls of air instead of water. And, oh yeah, my life depended on it. Like a human rocket, I zeroed in on Wings Maletta and -- pow -- the guy didn't even know what hit him. I plowed into his bulging beer belly with a soft thud. Then, throwing my arms around his barrel chest, I held on tight. Wings was totally stunned. You should have seen his face. With his eyes bulging in his goggles and his furry beard poking out of his helmet, he looked like a very large -- and very confused -- teddy bear. Except teddy bears don't usually throw punches when kids hug them. Whack! Wings's huge hairy fist slammed into my jaw and sent me flying backward. Man! That hurt! It was still daylight, but I was seeing stars. And clouds. And the earth, too -- spinning around me. Time to get a grip. I spread out my arms and legs to steady myself, then tilted downward. Wings reached for his parachute cord. Oh, great. If I didn't grab onto him in the next second or two, I was going to plunge to my death. Not an option. So I bucked against the wind like a wild bronco and thrust myself headfirst at Wings. With all my strength I lunged at him with my right arm. Somehow I managed to grab his wrist -- before he could pull the cord. All right! But Wings wasn't having it. He tried to brush me off like a bug, smacking my hand and swatting me away. I reeled back from his blows. Then my hand started to slip off his wrist. One inch. And another. Get a grip, I told myself again. But this time I meant it. Literally. Suddenly the walkie-talkie in my helmet crackled with sound. "Joe! Hold tight!" It was Frank! I glanced up. There he was! Swooping down like a bomber plane! I grabbed onto Wings Maletta with both hands -- and braced myself. Wham! Bull's-eye. Frank crashed into us with